Sweet Dreams
by Sylar221B
Summary: Harry grew up without knowing about magic. He has been having weird dreams lately. Why is this happening? What is the consequence of these dreams? Read and find out. I do not own Harry Potter.


Harry POV

This frozen TV dinner tastes like shit. These mashed potatoes were watery and salty. This so-called chicken patty is not made of meat at all. It's most likely the leftover crap used to fry the meat of REAL chicken. The cheese in this burger is nothing more than yellow plastic. After eating these same meals for years straight, I'm finally sick of it. At least I have some Coke left. Nothing good is on TV. All I could find was _Mind of Mencia_, which is still crap. As usual, my other "friends" are out doing fun things that don't involve me. I've finally gotten accustomed to the loneliness, the numerous nights sitting in my dirty chair watching TV alone. Then again I am pretty happy. Nothing bad has happened to me in a good while, plus I keep my apartment constantly clean. I love having a clean living area. I only clean it because I have nothing better to do. I hate the feeling of nothing to do. I'll do a bit of a workout and go to bed. I love how no matter how shitty my day was; my pillow always feels just as comfortable. Sleeping is so peaceful…

My grip on her neck is tightening. Her eyes are beginning to roll back into her head. I can feel the blood in her neck frantically trying to reach the brain under her warm perfect skin. She has such pretty hair. I begin punching her beautiful face over and over again. She went from an angel to a purple red pulp in a few seconds. She smells so nice. I grab from my back pocket my fold out knife. I begin stabbing her perfectly figured torso over and over again. I can feel her warm blood splatter on my fingers and the blade. With my free hand I hold her mouth closed. I feel her perfectly white teeth digging into my hand. She looks so cute when she's sad.

Oh my god! What have I done? I can't… piece together. I only remember killing that woman and waking up in my bed. What the hell did I do?! I need to get out of here! Wait… wait… did that happen? Or was I… was I dreaming? It looked so real… but how would I get back here if I did? And why can't I remember getting there or coming back. That must be it… it was just a silly dream. Ha, seemed pretty real to me. I guess I just need to get more sleep rather than watch horror movies all night. I can't believe I thought I really did that. Stupid me. It's only 6:53, I think I'll get changed and go to work early. I'm too spooked to go back to sleep. Heh… me killing someone, who would've thought? I'll just get dressed and go to work. Wait… my knife fell out my pocket. Oh shit… it's covered in blood.

What the fuck is going on!? I… everything is a mess! Shit what if the cops find out? What am I saying it didn't happen… god damn it I don't know!! I'll make some coffee and sit down. Yes… gotta love French vanilla. So soothing… why did I dream that horrible horrible dream? That night I went home, ate dinner, worked out a bit and went to bed. Nothing out of the ordinary. I _thought_ I killed that woman… but how would I? Why would I? Where!? I think it was a dream… I wish it was a dream. Nothing can explain how the blood got on my knife.

I know. I'll just simply talk to one of my friends. They'll observe how crazy it sounds, and we'll enjoy a laugh… even though all my friends are rat bastards that frequently avoid me. They're all at work by now, aw who cares.

"Hello this is John of purchasing-"

"Listen John-"

"Oh hey there Harry-"

"Listen John I need to meet you after work immediately."

"Sorry but I'm a bit busy tonight."

"No it's important and I need your help!"

"*sigh.* Fine. Where?"

"Come to my place right after work."

He hung up. Nobody says "bye" anymore. I have five hours to kill and I'm too wound up to do anything. Maybe I'll watch a Tom Green DVD… or maybe not. I'm not in any mood to laugh. I'm much too afraid to take a nap. Who knows if I have another dream? Even though it could be not real, the dreams are still vivid enough to scare me. I'll just stare at the walls… thinking.

Hours have already flown by while I listen to the quietness of my apartment. I can still imagine her… screaming. I can imagine the knife. I can see the knife going in and out of her skin with quick motions. No I have to stop thinking about it! No need to go into detail… after all… it never happened…

John finally arrives. He got out of work 75 minutes ago, and it only takes 15 minutes to get here.

"Ok, what could be this incredibly important?"

"Just, listen to me. I'm having a problem and I needed to talk to someone about it. Last night I went to sleep and I had this vivid dream I killed someone."

"…right. Well I'm going to-"

"No listen to me! I don't think I killed her… but it seemed so real. I didn't want to, I mean I DIDN'T do it, no I don't want to. I'm such a damn mess what is wrong with me?"

"You killed a woman?

"No I **dreamed** I killed one. I'm talking to you about this because it was so real it scared me!"

"Wow, was she I mean did she _look_ like someone we know?"

"Uhh… she looks a bit like Rachel the receptionist."

"She wasn't in today actually-"

"Oh shit it **did **happen! Oh my god what do I-"

"Calm down calm down! Listen, a few days ago she called in sick and she said she wouldn't be in for a few weeks!"

"What-… really?"

"**Yes** she did! You didn't kill her! Oh man you gave me a scare there, man!"

"Wow… I guess I scared myself there too. I mean… could yeah. That is silly. Could you really picture me killing someone?"

"Hahaha, no I can't! Listen buddy, you seemed a bit out of it today. Take the day off tomorrow and come back Wednesday. Alright? Get some rest and come back when you're ready to work. I'd love to stay but I gotta go, catch ya Wednesday!"

"Yes, that does sound nice. Alright, and thanks John."

"Don't mention it, see ya."

Stupid dreams, they gave me quite a scare today. I guess those shitty frozen TV dinners are really getting to me now. Feels like someone lifted fifty pounds off my back. I could sure go for a damn coffee by now. Italian roast hits the spot. It's a bit early but I just want to get some sleep, I've been through enough stress for today. No matter how bad or good my days were, my pillow always feels as comfortable as the first day I bought it.

I take the screwdriver and ram it into the back of John's neck. I hear it impale the spinal cord. His body slams against the ground. His body is violently twitching. I grasp the wooden bat and begin pummeling his body over and over again. I hear the sound of wood smashing into organs. I hear bones splintering and breaking from every hit I deliver to his perfectly dressed body. I grow board of playing as I go for my knife. I cut his throat all the way around. Blood pooling on the floor.

Holy shit what happened?! I had another dream again! Oh my god that didn't feel like a dream, that felt so real! Why was it John!? Wait… if my other dream was a fake than so is this one. I just have to get a better grip on myself. Its just a dream after all. Heh, I'm still shaking about it. It's intense. John is fine. I'm sure of it. Hell, I can prove it. It's noon, I'll simply call John's number at work, give a quick "how's it going" and be satisfied. Maybe it's the coffee…

"Hello this is Sarah of purchasing how can I help you?"

"Whe-where is John?"

"I'm sorry he's not in today."

"What... how… why?"

"The supervisor asked him to attend an out-of-state conference today."

"Oh… thank you."

Sarah hung up. Nobody says "bye" anymore. But John is fine. I'm just over-reacting about these stupid damn dreams. It's just a bunch of images in my head I shouldn't be so worked up about. I'm sure it's not that unusual. I still have a day off to enjoy, I'll just get a coffee from Dunkin' Donuts.

Nothing like coming home with an Iced Coffee in my hand, even though the assholes went overboard with the cream. I've just been a mess the past few days. I need to just lay back and regain my thoughts. I put my keys on the counter, I'll hang them up later. I'll just throw my shoes on the floor, I'll worry about them later. Hell, I'll simply throw my coat in the closet and worry about hanging up later.

That's when I noticed John's bloody and bruised body in the corner of my closet.


End file.
